A Life of Struggle
by ElabourateIllusion
Summary: AU. Lacole used to be just a normal girl-until her death went spectacularly wrong and she found herself reborn, a witch, and Lord Voldemort's daughter. With her new identity, she might be able to find some answers to herself, and irrevocably change the times she is living in. First person, the unabridged account of the Second Wizarding War, according to Lacole Riddle.
1. In Face of Death

It was eleven o'clock at night. The house was silent, and mostly dark, but for the exception of the small study-turned-bedroom, where a young girl still sat at her desk, printing words neatly into her diary. She had a very pretty hand.

_I hate it,_ she wrote,_ I hate the world's injustice and unfairness and pain. I hate the falsity and all the careless cruelty. Everyone seems to be fools or hypocrites or cynics who laugh at the world, and without exception, all are blind._

_How can we live in a world of such darkness? How can anyone bear to survive on the little goodness in this world, when there is so much bad? I-_

She stopped, appeared too overcome by emotion to continue, or perhaps her thoughts were too fast for her pen to keep up. She pushed the diary away, bit her lip, and looked down at the surface of the desk in silence.

She was a girl who might be called normal, or unusual. Born to well-educated parents, she had had the chance to travel the world at an early age. England, France, Germany, Holland, many countries had been called her home. She was rather pretty, very intelligent, and inexplicably cynical. She hated the world because of what she had seen, rather than wonder at its beauty. She discovered the defects of human nature and defects of the human race, despaired of the blind masses, and refused to forgive their stupidity. But she was a quiet girl, and a kind girl, and though she could not be called popular, she never gave any reason to be disliked. And when she was not alone, she could be lively, making great use of her wit and sarcastic tongue. But she was often alone, with busy parents, and no siblings. On this very night, she was alone. Her father was not returned, and her mother fast asleep.

She was seized by the sudden urge to go out, at once. This idea excited her. Her parents loved her, and protected her well, and at the age of fourteen, she had never been further than a 20 minute walk from her home by herself. She did not plan to go far. She did not even plan to wander. There was a Macdonald's near her home, and she could go sit there for a while. It would be safe enough. It wasn't far, and she couldn't sleep. Yes, she would go now, and be returned before her mother awoke, and no one would be any wiser. Secrets always had such a charm.

She got up, put on a jacket, took the keys, and quietly left the house. The neighbourhood, ever a quiet one, was peaceful. She put her hands in her pockets, and observed little as she walked the familiar path. She never noticed much, when there were no people to engage her attention. She rounded a corner, and Macdonald's came into sight at the other side of the street, its lights inviting. The little man at the crossing was red, but no car was likely to cross at such a time of night. She walked across, giving a slight glance to the left and right. No car. She returned her attention to her own thoughts, and continued walking.

It happened very fast. She had barely seen the light, heard the noise, before the car was on her, and she was too astonished to use the millisecond before she was under its wheels to scream. A great pain followed, and then she knew nothing, nothing at all.

It so happened that the driver who had run her down was her own father, driving home. It so happened that he had been so slack at his driving that he had crushed his daughter under his car's merciless wheels. The girl was desperately rushed to the hospital, but it was no use. She was cold by the time she had gotten there.

For a while, she knew nothing, nothing at all. It was like sleep. But eventually, she grew sensible to a light, growing and growing until she could really stand it no longer and raised a hand to cover her eyes.

"Oh, you're awake, then," an unfamiliar voice announced cheerfully.

Ah. Someone was speaking to her. So she hadn't died, had she? Well, that was fortunate. She peeked through her fingers, and saw a stranger, a very beautiful man with golden hair and golden eyes which made her think of Carlisle Cullen.

"Hello," she said experimentally.

"You just died," the man told her as cheerfully as before.

She forgot about the light. Her hands dropped, and she stared at the man in aghast.

"What?"

"Yes, it does come as a bit of a shock to some. Especially the ones who haven't enjoyed a particularly long life, like you," the man said sympathetically.

The girl shook her head. She was _dead_? Just like that? Getting run over by a car? What an amazingly disappointing way to die. Well, but she had always wondered what happened after you die. She had, of course, like any fellow creature, contemplated suicide, but had decided that it was ridiculous. She was very glad to find that there was an existence after death after all.

"So what happens now?" She asked.

"Well-" the man began. A loud sound of a ringing bell sounded in the distance, and the man was distracted, looking towards the noise.

"Look, I have to go for a moment," he said apologetically, "stay here until I get back, okay?"

He disappeared before she could reply.

She shrugged, and looked around. She seemed to be sitting upon nothingness. There is no humanly word to describe absolutely nothing, so I won't try. It was a strange thing. It was solid though, and she knew she was sitting on it. On each side there was still nothing, except one. On her left, there seemed to be a strange black hole of white light. It was very interesting and had an inexplicable attraction, and before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet and advancing towards it. In a moment she stood in front of it, wondering. Was this the porthole to heaven? There was probably some activation mechnism, or the like. She wanted very much to take another step. She told herself it was a bad idea, but couldn't resist reaching a hand forward and seeing how it looked bathing in the white light. Unconciously, she moved a little closer.

"HEY!"

She jumped, and swivelled round, but she did it too fast and overbalanced, and then she was falling into the white light behind her, and the man seemed horrified, he came after her, stretching out his hand, but he didn't seem to dare reaching it into the light, and she fell, and fell, and fell.

At first the feeling of freefall only terrified her, and she was convinced that she had done something terribly wrong and was going straight to hell. But then she wouldn't stop falling, and she enjoyed the freefall instead. She twisted and turned and did loops, and laughed loudly because no one could hear. But then she was silent, because she was a quiet girl. After a while, she realised the white had turned to black, and she was swimming. If this was hell, it was rather mild. But after a long time, she acknowledged the wisdom of it, for with such blackness and nothing else, the inmates would undoubtedly go mad from boredom. She slept a lot. She could not tell whether the black or the white had lasted longer. But then she realised something. She was growing _bigger_. She thought of this with confusion for quite some time before she remembered something. The water. The darkness. The growing. She was a _baby_. She had been _reincarnated_. And she must have done something wrong, because she still remembered every single detail of her previous life. Damn, she couldn't even die right.

But this, meant that she had amusement. She could fantasize about her future parents and wonder what they would be like. She wondered about her nationality, her appearance, her family-in short, everything that a baby could want to know. She didn't like the thought though. Baby. She was not a baby, she was a fourteen year old. But she had enough time to resign herself to the fact. Nine months. She had no idea how much time had already been passed, and spent her time growing, swimming, thinking, and, when she grew big enough, kicking her mother. After a long, long time, she had an idea that she was going to be born soon, for she was very big now, and the darkness was getting uncomfortably cramped. Sure as could be, she started turning. Very helpful to her own life was the fact that she was able to stop the cord from getting tangled around her limbs. She had no idea how long she had to turn, only when she stopped. And then she did everything she could to attempt to shove the cushion above her head.

Her efforts finally, finally had a result. The cushion gave. The reader shall be spared the icky detail of the process of her being born, and let's just say that she was, with full and complete limbs, and a lot of blood. It suddenly made her very sick to remember that she had spent nine months in someone's vagina, even if that someone was her mother.

To her surprise, she was spared the white light and headache of a hospital operation room. In fact, it was dimly lit, so she could look around herself quite comfortably. Her heart sank. It appeared that she had been given the comfort of being born in the middle ages. The walls were made of stone, for god's sake. To express her great displeasure, she opened her mouth, and began to wail.


	2. If This Is Life

It was, I decided, a very good thing that no one ever remembers what happened when they were born. No one wants to be that embrassed. I was going to be scarred for the rest of this life. It was terrible.

We had gone over all the ceremony of 'oh,she's a girl!' the day/night/whatever of my birth. The responses varied. My mother was pleased enough, and decided that I was quite a pretty baby. She, I might add, was quite pretty too, and didn't seem very old, twenty seven or eight, perhaps. I quite liked her. My father was another story altogether. He coldly expressed his disappointment in that I was something so worthless as a girl, and asked my mother if she would mind terribly if he killed me off and tried again. My mother replied that she would prefer he didn't, and he settled for ordering me never to be brought into his sight. You can imagine how I feel on that, especially since he was about twice as old as my mother, not half as pretty, and had the most terrifying red eyes.

I really had, by the way, been born into the middle ages. My parents wore robes, my mother called my father 'my lord' and defered to him in everthing, and appeared to adore him to a point which his sensibility was not deserving. Oh, and they also appeared to be part of a cult, and I had seen both do strange things like making things fly to them through the air (my mother, who wouldn't get out of bed), burn paper in their hands (my father, the scary thing), and so on. I wasn't as surprised as I would have been had I not died once. Perhaps reincarnation wasn't really the thing. This wasn't remotely like the world I had been a part of before I died. Time appeared to have gone back a couple centuries, people could do…let's call it magic…and everything was delightfully insane. I was not so concerned. I had spent so much time doing absolutely nothing that although the life of a baby was amazingly boring I had plenty of fun observing my mother and father, though one was ridiculous, and the other was cruel.

My mother's name was Bellatrix, or Bella, as my father often called her. She appeared to have little personality beyond her adoration of my father. It was obvious that my father didn't love her. He didn't even pretend he did. He seemed to me a cruel man, though I could vaguely understand my mother loving him in that he was a very powerful man. I suppose that must count for something. He was not handsome, there was a gross twisted nature to his features that prevented him being so, and coupled with the red eyes I previously mentioned, and the threat to my life, I was quite afraid of him. I was determined not to show it, however. The worst he could do was kill me, and I was 90 percent sure at this point that nothing would happen but that I'd have to go through the pain of being in a womb again, perhaps this time without my memories. If losing them was enough to never see him again, I suppose I wouldn't need them. But as time went on, he appeared to like me a little more than at my birth-I say a little.

"Well," he remarked to my mother one day upon seeing her feeding me, "the thing seems the less ugly with time."

My mother smiled, and didn't bother to remind him that I was not a thing. As for me, I was perfectly happy with mutual dislike. Anyway, I'm sure it was just the sight of my mother's breasts.

Oh, did I forget to mention? I have a new name. My mother told me. My name is Lacole Natasha Riddle. Lacole, she told me, meant 'victorious ones' and Natasha, oh irony of ironies, means reborn. I laughed aloud at hearing that. Fortunately, I'm a baby, so it was just a gurgle, and none of my bitterness showed. Yes, I am bitter about this. How could I not be? I was perfectly happy with my parents at least, of not my world. My mum and dad loved me. My mum might have been at times a little overbearing, and my father so affectionate as to be annoying, but I had loved them, and never wished for a different pair of parents. Was this, then, my punishment for detesting and despairing of the world I lived in? Is this God's way of telling me to feel myself lucky? I never used to believe in God, thought it ridiculous, scorned God for being hypocritical in fact. But after this, after _dying_, how could I doubt the existence of a higher being? I may still think bad of him, but of his existence I've been assured.

For Bellatrix, I feel little other than contempt. Perhaps sometimes I pity her, for being so hopelessly smitten with a man who obviously isn't about to return her love anytime soon. Perhaps I am doing her injustice in supposing that she has no personality; perhaps she does and it's only smothered by him. I don't know _his_ name. My mother calls him nothing but lord and master. And she has very few opportunities to speak to him at all. For most of the time, he's gone. Every one or two or three days, he drops in for a few minutes, to insult us, crush her, and stare at me.

This life continued for six months, which was the time when I stopped needing my mother's milk. Bellatrix very eagerly stuck me in my cot with a flying ball to play with, and then disappeared herself. Now that was boring. There's only so long you can play catch before it sucks. I withstood a whole fortnight of it before appealing to my father's very slim good nature, in the only way a baby could. That day on seeing him I plastered a nice big baby grin on my face and called, "Father!"

The man was amused.

"Why, Bella," he said to my astonished mother, "the thing seems to have some merits after all."

I scowled at being called a thing again. As a result of being a baby, it scrunched up my whole face, and I sneezed.

"But then again," he murmured, staring at me with a calculating expression, "she is…my child…"

From then on, my father grew considerably nicer to me. On thinking about it, I realised the advantages of being in my father's good favour. Despite his being a horrible man. But then again, when has good and bad ever mattered? All people want is power, and all they have is deceit. For now, my father had the power. And as much as I hated the necessity, I had to make him like me. Only when he was unable to influence me anymore would I be free, free to roam this world of which I knew nothing and cared nothing. When I thought about these points, it was not difficult to cry, as babies do.

So I remained in his good favour. After another month, I said 'Bella', which amused him to no end and made him think I liked him better than Bellatrix. On retro-reflexion, it was true in a way. I was disgusted with Bella. I just didn't like him. Considering, my dislike for him was actually milder. It was rather hypocritical, wasn't it, that I prefered the cruel to the weak? Does that make me a hypocrite? I'm not sure. I'm not sure of a lot of things anymore. I'm not sure who I am, and that scares me. Will I lose my memory after all? Will I lose all that I have hated and loved in the fourteen years I once lived? I would not let it be, and so I took time, each day when I was left alone, which was less often now that my father liked me more, to remember my previous life. I cried over my friends and my mum and my dad and my grandma and all my cousins, and came out of it feeling a lot better.

I should try to expect from this world something better. Human nature is not inclined to learn from its mistakes, and I have made the mistake of pessimism repeatedly. Perhaps if I look forward it will be good? It might work, for in my first childhood, before I had reason to doubt, I was always happy. But then, when is a well-loved child not happy?

Things continued in the boring manner of a baby's life. I turned one. Not much was made of it, and I didn't really care. After a year of knowing my mother and father, I have reached a conclusion. They aren't good people. That's an understatement actually, my father for one is evil, and my mother very close to it. My father speaks of murder carelessly, and my mother listens and joins in in the same vein. I listened as he was talking to my mother of the 'muggles' he had killed today with relish. My heart seemed to harden as I listened. It was the same way I used to feel, going drinking with my friends and boasting to each other how badass we each were. I felt bad, wrong. I'd wanted to take pleasure then in taking part in such a cool activity. Here, I wanted nothing but to _get away_ from these two people.

And my wish was soon fulfilled.

Well, perhaps not soon, exactly.

By the time it happened, I was four going on eighteen. During that time, I had, as soon as I could walk, found the library and started reading. There weren't any novels or anything. These were books on the Dark Arts, but I read them anyway, with the same feeling I'd given once to drinking with friends. I had wanted to be bad, so that I'd fit in with the rest of the world. I couldn't have a better chance of doing that now, really. I was surrounded by nasty, cruel, stupid, hypocritical, prejudiced people. These, are my father's followers. His cult.

After a long time, I'd finally heard my father refer to himself as Lord Voldemort. It was a weird name, but at least he had one, and I was starting to get worried that he didn't. Then I found out his day job. Apparently, his sole occupation is Taking Over the World and All the Surrounding Worlds, But Mostly Just Great Britain. It's probably the most badass occupation that ever was, so I refrain from laughing at that and appear to be Very Impressed. He's a strange person, a complicated mix of wit and ambition, insanity and cruelty. He thinks I'm a genius and spends some time teaching me when he's bored. I seriously don't know whether to hate him, admire him, scorn him, or fear him, so I do none of those, and just keep my original feeling of not liking him.

Four years of living, and I'm not allowed to see a single human being apart from my parents. My father is a very paranoid man, and an infant daughter is a weakness to him. I'm not so convinced. In fact, I'm sure that if someone killed me, he'd be no more than vaguely annoyed. I'm not even sure he wouldn't kill me himself. He said so, after all.

"Lacole," he said, intruding on my library, "where are you?"

I say nothing. He still finds me, though, rather irritated.

"I called you."

"I didn't hear," I lied. I'd long since learned that he knew whenever I was lying, and not to care.

"What is it you are reading?"

"French," I replied.

"What in French?"

"It tells me how to learn the language."

"You do not need to learn French, there are spells for that. I told you to read _The Secret Art_."

"I will." Sometime after I have finished the rest of the library.

"You are the most stubborn girl I've known in a long time," he remarked.

"That's because no one survives meeting you, father."

He seemed to like this idea. I don't need to talk about the ridiculousness of a person actually enjoying their own evilness.

"Still, I am sure none of them were quite as stubborn as you."

"You can tell them to read books instead, then."

"That's an absurd idea. My followers would be honoured if they were allowed a book from my library, let alone to be allowed free reign in here like I allow you."

"This is my library."

"Never in a thousand years, girl."

I looked up with interest.

"Is that how long it takes you to die?"

He gave me a nasty glare, and a nasty hex, which I ducked.

"I don't die at all."

"Oh. Did you finally get your way with that vampire, then?"

"_That vampire_ no longer exists. I was immortal long before he was made."

I shrugged. Perhaps I should mention that. Lord Voldemort has a huge fear of dying. I would have assured him that he could continue his world conquest after dying, and told him exactly how to escape being memory wiped, but I have far too much campassion for the next world he's going to impose himself on for that. So I made no answer and carried on learning french. He watched me.

I think I must have made a strange picture. A little four year old girl, an adorable four year old girl if I do say so myself, sitting on the carpet with a huge book in my lap and a serious expression, I reminded myself of Roald Daul's Matilda. The difference is that Matilda is truly gifted, while I'm just luck.

"Do you know who I killed today?" He asked after a while.

"No. I'd rather it stay that way."

He ignored me, as was usual, and gave me a detailed description, including how to work the spells he used. I gratefully tuned him out by concentrating very well on my french, and only spoke when he had finished.

"You know, you have this idea of you and me side by side killing off Britain's supply of muggles, but it isn't going to happen."

"And why not?" He asked softly, daring me to moralize at him.

"…I don't like to share."

He stepped forward, crouched in front of me, pulled my book from my hands, and cupped my face in his hands. His red eyes were already scary at a distance. This near, it was horrible. It was like they were stained with all the blood of his victims.

"Understand this, daughter mine, that if I ever find you to defy me further than your clever little insults, if you ever seek to pull away from my control, if, in short, you are of no use to me or are a percieved threat to me, I will take your life as I have given it to you, and I cannot promise that my fatherly concern for you would render you a quick death."

To punctuate his words, the book about French burnt to smitherns, and as he left, threw at me _The Secret Art_.

Well. It was no loss of mine. It was his book, after all. I shrugged, and told myself he didn't scare me. But I still had nightmares that night, of Lord Voldemort's face before me-'_I cannot promise that my fatherly concern for you would render you a quick death_', I dreamed that he was tormenting me with the spells he had told me of before his threat. I woke with a scream in my throat, and could not sleep again until dawn. Natrally, I attempted to avoid my father for the next century, and then, upon seeing him at dinner, pretended I wasn't bothered at all.

Such things happened with such a strange man for a father, and I told myself I didn't care, didn't like him, didn't love him or want his love or want to love him, but it hurt, even when I didn't want it to, and I missed my normal, caring, overly affectionate dad more than ever.

Then something happened, and I didn't even have a father. I suppose every reader knows this event, and thinks that I'm a retard for not expecting it. Yes, I am talking of the events of Halloween 1981, The First Fall. My father tried to murder one time too many. I wasn't sure, at the time, how I felt about that. A sort of numbness, perhaps. I had wished to be freed from his control. Am I so much a favourite with God that I am to get my every wish? The thought wasn't really a happy one, and I thought, perhaps, I should be careful what I wished for.

Soon, I wasn't to have a mother, either.


	3. A Bad Beginning

**Right. Hi, everyone! *waves* Last update this week, cos I have army training. Gah. Oh, and Lacole never read HP before she died. In fact, HP never existed, or something...you get the idea. Uh, actually, I wouldn't mind a few reviews, you know. Hint hint. If you don't review, Lord Voldemort will come back to life and kill Lacole in a horrible gruesome way...  
Muse: But he's going to do that anyway!  
Shut up, Muse. Sorry bout that. Read on.**

* * *

I had greatly misunderstood my mother. I had always seen her as a weak little creature who's only happiness in life was her lord and master. She never spoke to me of the killing and torturing and all that unless my father asked her to join in, and if she spoke to me outside of that, it was only to teach me manners.

After Bellatrix told me, with a terrible expression, that my father was gone (not dead, she wouldn't say dead), she took me away, telling me that it was unsafe, and ignoring my request to go to the library for any more books other than the one in my hand. Being told that my father was perhaps gone forever wasn't exactly unappealing to me. And as Bellatrix vehemently denied that he was dead, I didn't have to worry about the poor people in his next world.

It was the first time I had ever been away from the castle I called home, and I was actually quite cheerful. The castle looked as gloomy from the outside as from within, and I wasn't very sorry to leave it. Bellatrix talked to me very little as we walked away, and then she picked me up, whirled around, and I felt a most unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a tube. After it was over, I patted my head to check that it was still the shape it was before, and looked around. We were standing on a well-trimmed lane. Bellatrix grabbed my hand impatiently, and tugged me after her.

The lane was wilderness on one side, and a trimmed, high hedge on the other. As we rounded the corner, I saw at the same time, a white peacock trotting along the top of the hedge and a silvery, wire gate. Bellatrix pulled out her wand, and stuck it into a little hole on the gate. I half expected it to beep, but it didn't, just opened silently. Inside was a wide stone path, with a neat lawn on each side and a impressive fountain mounted by a unicorn standing on it's hind legs was in front of us. As I passed it, I saw that it had saphires for eyes, and surely that horn was gold? When we rounded it, I saw the house in the distance, a nineteenth century concept of modern, elegant and refined, more to my taste than the Dracula's Haunt that had been my home.

"Where is this?" I couldn't help ask.

My mother spared me a glance.

"Your aunt's house."

My eyebrows rose. I'd never known I had an aunt. But one question per day was about my mother's limit, and I said no more. I was a bit excited though. This was a nice change, and my aunt might even have a library. When we reached the doors, it opened, and a tiny creature about my height with tennis ball sized eyes bowed hastily.

"You is welcome, Madam Lestrange! Please-Mistress is in the parlour."

Whatever it was, it obviously hadn't learnt grammar. My mother ignored it, so I did too, and ran after her through the unfamiliar house.

'Mistress' was a pretty young woman of twenty four or five with golden hair falling over her shoulders and a pretty, yet slightly disdainful smile. Her icy blue eyes looked over Bellatrix, before falling on me. She raised an eyebrow.

"Sister, whose child is this?"

"Mine," Bellatrix replied. "And I do hope you have rooms for the two of us."

The young woman stirred her tea.

"Rooms, of course, are an abundance, but Lucius is in a very tight spot right now, you know it, Bella. I cannot help but be nervous to admit you."

Bellatrix laughed unpleasantly.

"Narcissa, I know perfect well the tricks your little husband has up his sleeve, and the galleons. And there's that convenient little place under the drawing room, where I'm sure I'll be safe if aurors were to come."

Narcissa smiled, and sipped her tea.

"It is not that I do not wish to be of use to you, dear Bella. But I worry. You have not always been very clear headed, you know, especially when to do with the Dark Lord."

"I will bring you no trouble, I assure you."

"No trouble, no, just a child. And who is her father, might I ask?"

"No, you may not."

"I would be wary of the unknown, sister."

A pause.

"If you worry so, I shall tell Lucius Malfoy. But not you."

Narcissa shrugged elegantly, and stretched out her legs.

"You could ask him, too, then. If he agrees to let you stay here, then I would have no objection."

"Very well. Where is he?"

"Dobby!" Narcissa called. I blinked. What Dobby?

The weird little thing who had greeted us at the door appeared with a snap, pulling at its ears.

"Dobby, take Bella to my husband."

My mother followed the little creature, and I followed her. My Aunt Narcissa, I decided, was a sugar coated knife, those who are so accustomed to deceit that it became a habit. I couldn't fault her, for it was what I, in the end, wanted to become-cover myself with masks and masks, and protect myself from hurt. It meant that I could never be truly free, but freedom itself was such a lie! I might as well live in lies, than die in the pursuit of another. My uncle, Mr. Lucius Malfoy gave my mother pretty much the same arguments Narcissa did, and asked who my father was. My mother hesitated, and I took the chance to make an impute.

"My father's name is Lord Voldemort," I said.

Lucius started, looked me up and down and then to Bellatrix for confirmance. She gave it.

"And Lucius, what do you think our lord would do if he returned and was told that his child was refused sanctuary?"

"He would do nothing at all, because it would be a lie," Lucius said coldly.

Bellatrix looked pleased. That settled, she started asking Lucius about how he was going to get out of being convicted. Lucius told her very little other than the fact that he was likely to succeed, but it would be a long and tedious business. Bellatrix sneered at him for his efforts, and accused him of disloyalty. He glared at her.

"To your brain, Bella, it is perhaps not very clear, but I could do a great deal more towards helping our lord return if I am proved to be quite innocent. And since you see reason to doubt me, you will kindly remove yourself from my sight."

"I'm sure our lord's return is at the forefront of your mind," Bella shot back sourly, before pulling me to leave.

"Leave the child," Lucius added without looking up.

Bellatrix gave an incredulous huff, and let go of me to exit with a bang.

I looked at Lucius for a while, wondering what he wanted with me, but he seemed to be engrossed in whatever he was reading on his desk, and feeling stupid, I wandered over to a bookshelf. Much to my delight, it wasn't all about the Dark Arts, but had quite a number of books on Transfiguration and Potions. All my father had ever had was a huge library of Dark Arts, coupled with a few books on languages, which was needed since a lot of the books weren't written in English. I picked a book on Transfiguration that looked very interesting, and sat down by the bookshelf to read it, like I always did. It was confusing and I only understood about half of what it said, but I was fascinated with the fact that you could kill people by turning them into inanimate objects, and excited by the concept of Animagi.

"You can read?" Lucius sounded surprised.

"Mmm," I replied, forgoing politeness for the book.

He quite gently took the book from my hands and checked what it was. He raised an eyebrow.

"You understand this?"

"Not really. I only get about half, and I don't understand a bit about Elemental Transfiguration."

He gave me a look. One of those strange looks that I had been given a lot in my previous life. It looked haughty on his face. It was a good looking face, like those portraits of this lord or that which you see when you visit old houses, with a good amount of arrogance to highlight the effect. He didn't scare me, with a father like mine, it was quite hard to be scared, but he seemed to demand respect. Unfortunately, when people demand of me, I'm in the habit of not giving.

"How old are you, child?"

"Eighteen."

"You can't be more than five."

"I was four in June."

"You are very gifted, then. Did your father teach you to read?"

"My father taught me to be quiet."

"…I'm sure he would."

Lucius looked very bemused, and I seized the opportunity, and the book.

"I can borrow this, right?"

"Certainly. I have a more extensive library, with books more suited to your understanding."

"Which is very good."

"I'm sure it is."

I then continued to read, while Lucius looked at me. It reminded me of my father's favourite pastime.

"Your mother didn't tell me your name."

"It's Lacole."

I continued reading.

"You know, I have a son, Draco, he was one in June. You could play together."

Play? With a one year old? No thanks.

"Thank you, but I don't play with babies."

"Who do you play with, then?"

"You know, you have this habit of interrupting my reading, which is funny, because my father enjoyed the same thing."

"Well. Don't let me interrupt you then."

So from the first encounter, the balance of power was made. Lucius would always thwart Bellatrix, and I would always thwart him. He was used to his own happy, normal infant son, and was at a loss to how to deal with me, the little child prodigy. My mother soon got herself captured, to everyone's expectation and no one's regret, and I took up residence at Malfoy Manor on a permanent basis-they were given my guardianship on account of being my closest relatives, and I finally got a file in the Ministry of Magic with the name of father blank.

Things were a lot easier without parents, and with an aunt and uncle who didn't quite know what to make of me. I never bothered to hide that I was too clever for my age, which meant Narcissa dared treat me as her personal Barbie doll a lot less than she would have liked. Draco was told by his father to play nice with me, which he did by ignoring me a lot. And by the age of three, he was so much of a little brat that I was quite glad he stayed out of my way. Narcissa spoilt him outrageously, and Lucius was very strict with him as a result. This meant that he grew up with a huge amount of respect for his father, and none for anyone else.

I, on the other hand, didn't really enjoy my childhood the way everyone else did, because I wasn't exactly _like_ everyone else. I wasn't even a child, really. I devoted my time to studying, for enjoyment, and because I didn't really have that much else to do. This world might have superior beings, but they were superior only in strength of body and not of mind. The pettiness and injustice, all those human defects I had despaired of in my first world were here. And here, I had even less reason for happiness, I barely belonged here. Fantastic as magic was, I still thought like a muggle. And I would still, occasionally, dream of my father, and his threats, and his cruelty, and then I would pray to that god who seemed to favour me so, to let him never come back.

Days passed, and I grew to the ripe old age of ten going on twenty four. Flying over the grounds of Malfoy Manor, Draco suddenly rose up behind me.

"Draco, I'm not playing tag with you again. If you crash into another tree, I think Lucius might just strangle me."

Draco scowled, trying and failing to imitate his father.

"I don't want to play tag. Actually, I came to tell you something, that is if you want to hear."

"When do you say anything worth hearing? Go tell Dobby you fancy Pansy Parkinson."

"I don't fancy her! And it is _too_ worth hearing! It's something Father and Mother said together!"

"Were you eavesdropping, you little spy?"

"I have perfect right to hear about my own birthday party. But they weren't actually talking about that. They were talking about you, you know."

That caught my attention. Surely Lucius hadn't told Narcissa about my father?

"I'm sure they do have to take a break from talking about you sometimes."

"It's something important. You are getting really old, you know."

"Draco, I'm not even three years older than you."

"Oh, come _on_, Lacole! You're going to be eleven soon! Surely you have two brain cells to rub together! _School_!"

"Oh, _school_. What about it?"

"Well. They were talking about whether or not to send you to Hogwarts."

"And what did they decide?"

"They hadn't."

I rolled my eyes. I really do have faith that Draco isn't stupid. He's just…slow. Someday he'll make use of his intelligence. After he realises that the world doesn't revolve around him.

"That's not much fun."

Draco was very grumpy at the way I received his information, and swore he'd never tell me anything again. He always did, though, because it was a choice between me, Dobby, and Pansy Parkinson, which really wasn't much of a choice. I landed by the front door, and went to find Lucius. He was, as usual, in his study.

"Lucius, are you busy?"

He put down a book.

"I'm always busy, but you might as well tell me what you want."

I sat down by him and crossed my ankles.

"Well, I'll be eleven soon. What are you going to do about my schooling?"

Lucius looked at me carefully.

"What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should send me to the school of my ancestor, the school of my father," I said. I'd noticed that Lucius was always more succeptable to suggestion when I mentioned that good gentleman.

"But it would be a danger, you know," Lucius murmured.

"No one else knows who my father is, right?" I shrugged.

"No, but they don't know that any man is your father. It is not right to call you Lestrange, when you are so obviously not the daughter of that man."

"Riddle. My name is Lacole Natasha Riddle."

Lucius raised his eyebrows.

"Bellatrix told me once. And I'm sure no one knows my father's surname is Riddle."

"But I am not sure Hogwarts is advanced enough for you. Surely you greatly exceed all your classmates."

"Perhaps I've read more, yes, but I've never touched a wand. And I should learn to get along with people-I can count the people I've known so far in my life with one hand."

I could see Lucius counting.

"What about Pansy Parkinson?"

"I prefer to think that I don't _know_ her. But even if I did, that would still be a very poor amount."

"You insist upon going then?"

"Quite."

"Well then." Lucius stood and walked over to his desk. "I have a letter to write to the headmaster of Hogwarts."

And so it was settled that I would attend Hogwarts in September. After being informed, Draco decided it was greatly unfair that I got to go to Hogwarts before he did, and wouldn't speak to me any more. With nothing better to do, I told him that he was too much of a midget and teased him so much that he actually burst into tears and ran to his daddy. While I was still laughing in shock, Lucius appeared and threatened not to send me to Hogwarts if I was going to bully Draco.

That I didn't like. Although he was technically my foster father, he'd never treated me like a child because he never needed to, and when he did need to, didn't dare. So I quietly threw a paddy, ignored Draco as much as he ignored me, and refused to let anyone go with me when I went to Diagon Alley for my supplies.

That, by the way, went off without a hitch. I bought all the necessary supplies, including my wand (cherrywood, thirteen and a quarter inches, core of unicorn hair), an owl (a lovely black one with bright eyes whom I named Illusion), and a load of robes. I was also tempted into a joke shop, which was rather crowded, very noisy, and made worse because someone was testing their jokes on the spot. I found the culprits by accident-something exploded in my hair, and they laughed way too hard. I gave them a death glare.

"You," I snapped, "are not going to move. Not until I buy something to get revenge."

"Well, George?" Said the red-haired, freckled boy on the left.

"Well, Fred!" Replied the red-haired, freckled boy on the right.

"Gryffindor's honour!" They promised together.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, Gryffindors, are you? Then your over-exploited sense of honour will surely keep you here till I've gotten my payback."

"Sounds like a Slytherin to me, Fred!" I heard one say as I pushed further into the shop.

I didn't mind, really. I and everyone else I knew expected me to be a Slytherin, what with me being his heir and everything. I had no idea if I could speak parstletongue, because I'd never seen a snake. And I did get the two of them back. I found the exact same thing that they had used on me, and got them when they weren't looking. I went back to Malfoy Manor very pleased with myself.

And then all that remained was September the first, and Hogwarts.

* * *

**You know, what I said about the reviews...**


	4. Unexpected Troubles

On September the first, Lucius and Lucius alone came to see me off. Draco was in a sulk and refused, and Narcissa stayed to keep an eye on him. He apparated the two of us into the busy King's Cross Station, and told me to walk through the ticket box. It was a strange feeling, but so many strange things made up this world I was a part of that I wondered very little now. The unfortunate part was, we ran straight into The Weasleys and their Seven Children.

On seeing each other, Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley stopped to glared as though they were trying to burn each other. Arthur automatically threw out a hand to push his family behind him. I looked from one to the other. Lucius had told me a lot about how horrible the Weasleys were, which, as a result made me get a warm, fuzzy feeling about them.

"Good Merlin, Arthur, is that your whole brood? If every wizard bred the way you do, we'd have no room to stand, I'm sure," Lucius sneered.

"I'm sure you'll come around to my way of thinking when your son dies off, Malfoy," Arthur Weasley spat back.

Lucius' posture grew that much stiffer, and I just knew that we were going to be here a long time. So I tugged his sleeve.

"Lucius, I'm going to be _late_."

Ten pairs of eyes looked at me.

"HEY!"

"It's you!"

I stared around for the source of the noise and found the two boys I'd met in the joke shop. I scowled.

"Oh, great. It's _you_."

"You know these people, Lacole?" Lucius asked, still glaring at Mr. Weasley.

"We're very well aquainted," I said dryly.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise." Lucius made the word 'pleasant' sound like profanity.

"I didn't know you had a daughter, Malfoy."

"I don't. This is my niece."

I tugged his sleeve again, and he put on a nasty smirk.

"It has been extremely pleasant talking with you, Arthur," Lucius said with a note of supreme smugness, before looking down at me.

"I do hope you enjoy Hogwarts, Lacole," he murmured, and then swept away majestically.

"Yes, I'll miss you too, Lucius," I told the ceiling with a sigh. Lucius and his melodrama. Then, on perceiving that the entire Weasley clan was still looking at me, I gave a wave.

"Wow, Lucius sure doesn't like you," I said brightly.

"I knew you were a Slytherin!" Said Fred or George.

I asked him which he was, he claimed he was Fred, his twin called him a liar, and they got into a huge argument about it. I watched, and my eyebrows slowly made their way up my forehead. Then their mother told them to shut up, and they went into hysterics. I'd never in this life come across anyone so careless and happy, and it made me yearn for the same. I asked them what year they were in, and they refered to themselves as 'ickle firsties'. Under both their parents' disapproving gazes, they each slung an arm across my shoulders and found an empty compartment for the three of us. Then they closed the doors, and waved at their parents cheekily through the windows. I giggled.

"You guys are so weird."

They each made an exaggerated bow, and sat down opposite me with huge grins plastered all over their faces. I looked from one to the other, trying to find difference, and failing sadly.

"So," said one twin.

"So!" Echoed the other.

"You're Lucius Malfoy's niece!"

"A shame, that."

"Truly, Fred."

"I keep thinking you're a good sort."

I snorted.

"Oh come on. You're just saying that because I exploded your hair so well."

The two grinned, agreed that I'd done it with style, and that marked the beginning of our against all odds friendship.

Soon we were joined by two more first years, Cedric Diggory and Angelina Johnson. With rowdy twins, open Cedric, and friendly Angelina, I, the bitter little Slytherin with the wrong crowd, faded into the background. I watched them laugh with a funny feeling clutching at my heart. I had been too long alone, I, who was so easily influenced by the world, and after ten years of not interacting with a single warm-hearted, frank-natured human being, I had forgotten how it was to be true. The lies and illusions that were my family had smothered me, and I could never be truly happy with them. For the first time, I wondered if I could ever escape.

Fred and George were surprisingly considerate, despite appearances, and often included me in the conversation. Slowly, I joined in their talk of Hogwarts, laughed with them, and shocked myself at how good it felt. Lunch rolled round, and when Fred and George brought out nasty looking sandwiches, Cedric and I cheerfully bought sweets enough for everyone. Fred and George promised not to prank us too soon in thanks, and then we unwrapped all the chocolate frogs to look at the cards. The afternoon passed very fast, and soon the train slowed, and we all got off. Clutching Illusion's cage and trying not to get knocked over (I wasn't a very big eleven year old) I lost the others who had been in my compartment. It was only outside that I heard the hollers of the groundskeeper, and hurried to the boats.

The other four had already filled a boat together, and I had to sit in one with three unpleasant looking boys who stared at me as I got on.

"I've not seen you around," said one.

"Nor I you."

"Who's your father?" Asked another one snottily. I was reminded of Draco Malfoy.

I gave him a nasty smile.

"It's funny you should ask, because I don't have one."

The boy laughed.

"I thought so. Could tell that you were a little nobody."

"I dare you to say that again." Not that I particularly objected to being a little nobody, in fact, it might even be nice, but when you're who I am, not allowing yourself to be insulted is a matter of principal.

"And why shouldn't I dare?"

"Who's _your_ father?" I shot back.

"Natheniel Pucey, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," the boy said in a boasting voice.

"Natheniel Pucey? Never heard of him, but I'm sure I can drop in a word for him to Lucius Malfoy," I replied, my smirk revealing exactly what sort of word it would be.

The boy paled, and the two others looked at me curiously.

"What's Lucius Malfoy to you?"

I considered briefly telling him that Lucius was my foot servant.

"My uncle."

And I knew, without a doubt, that these three were all Slytherins in the making, because their attitudes changed at once. To Slytherins, power was everything. I abruptly missed Fred and George Weasley.

"I'm so sorry," the boy blurted, "I had no idea…"

I gave a good imitation of Lucius' trademark cold smile, and said nothing else.

"I'm Cameron Warrington," said the boy who had said nothing up to now.

"Pleasure."

"I'm Brandon Montague," said the other.

"Again, a pleasure."

"I'm, uh, Adrian, Adrian Pucey," said the boasting boy awkwardly.

I said nothing, and looked up to see Hogwarts rising up before us. It surprised me. After the dreary castle of my infancy, I'd gotten the idea that all castles were gloomy, or at least forbidding. Hogwarts, on the contrary, was quite inviting, with a light in every window. Hogwarts School. A place to look forward to.

The huge gigantic gargantuan groundskeeper led us all up to the front doors, and handed us to a severe looking woman. She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. We were all ushered in, and after a long boring wait, we filed into the Great Hall.

Hogwarts had more of the majesty that came with age than the manicured elegance of Malfoy Manor. The soft yellow light, the crowds of students, the four long tables, served to give an aura that Malfoy Manor had not. I hadn't been told exactly how we would be sorted, and now, I did wonder, as Professor McGonagall brought out a stool and a ragged hat. The hat then proceeded to sing. I listened vaguely with one ear, because, in all honestly, it didn't sing very well at all. But I got the idea that we were to put it on.

I watched as one after the other, the new students were sorted. Cedric Diggory went to Hufflepuff, and Angelina Johnson to Gryffindor. Montague, one of the boys from the boat, was a Slytherin, as I had expected. Then it was my turn.

"Why, hello, Miss Riddle," said a gravelly voice, "you're one of Lord Slytherin's brethen!"

"Yes." And hurry up and send me to his goddamned house.

The hat chuckled.

"Oh, it's not that easy! Did you think that being his child would give you an automatic pass there? No, no. Do let me see. My goodness, you're a clever girl. Wit, ambition...oh, learned cunning, quite learned. You are hiding yourself, my young friend. You are one of Slytherin's, but you would not benefit there, mark my words！No, you'll have a better time in-GRYFFINDOR!"

Professor McGonagall pulled the hat off my head, but for a moment I simply sat there in shock, the polite clapping washing over me. How could I be a Gryffindor? I was neither courageous nor chivalerous. The hat had said so himself, wit, ambition, Slytherin's qualities, so why had it sent me to a house that no one I had a snowball's chance in hell of fitting into? Oh God, Lucius was going to _flip_.

"The Gryffindor table is that way, Miss Riddle," Professor McGonagall said with a small smile.

I moved towards it like a zombie.

Fortunately, Fred and George Weasley were soon sorted into Gryffindor too to cheer me up, otherwise I might have done something extraordinarily cliche like dying on the spot. Gryffindor. Well, okay. At least my father Lord Voldemort was not alive to deal out the slow, painful death he had promised me. That was good.

It was during eating that I got the feeling of being stared at. I looked up, and there was the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, watching me intently with too-blue eyes. I waved. He waved back, and I returned to my dinner. I was far too disturbed to think of the strangeness of Dumbledore's attention.

After dinner, Dumbledore gave some notices, welcomed Professors Quirell and Burbage, and we all went to bed. My room in Gryffindor tower was shared with Angelina Johnson, and two other girls. After going to bed, I lay awake some time thinking of the hat's words, the reason why I was lying in Gryffindor towers and not wherever the Slytherin dorms were situated. I fell asleep thinking about it, and had a dream where Lucius came and sent the sorting hat up in flames, and then he became my father, with the scarlet eyes, saying again those words which had haunted me for years, killing me…this time, I was not startled awake, and tossed and turned in my sleep until dawn.

Dumbledore was a good man. He was a forgiving man and a kind man. But he had come to learn, that with one child, he couldn't be too cautious. So this day, when he had heard his name, seen a face of such striking resemblance, he had not had his early night as he usually did every September the first. Instead, he had made a floo call to the ministry, and procured the file of Lacole Natasha Riddle. It was now before him, as he sipped his tea around the sherbert lemon in his mouth. Bellatrix Lestrange's child. Her father was unknown, presumed dead. It was very easy for one with the knowledge he had, to think of who that was. His lips thinned uncharacteristically.

But yet, yet, she was a Gryffindor.

He had started the moment the name came out of Minerva's mouth, and fixed his eyes upon the small, pale, black haired girl walking towards the stool. Exactly like he had been. His sharp, twinkling eyes had not missed her shock at the hat's sentence. He watched, he watched her throughout dinner, watched her with the carefulness he had not and should have watched her father with. She was a perceptive child. And her eyes, her eyes-dark like her mother's, not blue like his, but the expression in them was what he remembered. Far too old, too bitter. Could his old friend the sorting hat have been mistaken? But then, he had suddenly remembered yet another child, on whom he had seen that expression.

He threw another handful of floo powder into his fire.

"Good God, Dumbledore, you have the nastiest timing," said Severus Snape crossly as he buttoned up the robe he had been about to remove for bed.

Dumbledore wisely said nothing, and turned on his twinkle.

"What do you want?"

"Have you noticed young Miss Riddle, Severus?"

Snape frowned.

"That little Gryffindor first year? What about her?"

"She's a very special child, Severus. Do keep an eye on her, won't you?"

"Tell me why exactly I should do that," Snape demanded curtly.

Dumbledore paused, contemplated. He decided to go with the truth, for once.

"Her mother is Bellatrix Lestrange. You wouldn't like her to follow in those footsteps, would you?"

Snape stared into his eyes for a brief moment, and Dumbledore smiled. Then Snape's expression twisted with hate.

"She's a Gryffindor, isn't she? More likely to tred in the footsteps of your precious Sirius Black.," he sneered.

"I am very unhappy with Sirius' final choice," Dumbledore said gravely, his old heart leaping a beat as he thought of the tragedy that was his favourite Gryffindor boy.

Snape said nothing.

"But of Miss Riddle," Dumbledore persisted, "I hope a better end for her. You know best what it is to turn from the dark. Persuade her. Teach her."

"If you wished me to teach her how to be a spy, I would. How to turn away? I do not know, Dumbledore. All I have done, I have done for her." He paused, and laughed bitterly.

"Perhaps you can have her fall in love with your Boy-Who-Lived."

Dumbledore said nothing, once again. Severus' love for Lily Evans was one of the most painful things he had witnessed, and the guilt he had gotten the better of often popped up obstinately when Severus spoke of her. Thankfully, that was not often.

"Nevertheless," he said quietly.

Severus gave a thin smile.

"I'll do what I can, Albus. Now, please-get out of my chambers."

Dumbledore complied, knowing when the time was right to beat a well-executed retreat, and returned to his bed to sleep as restlessly as Lacole had.

I've just returned from army training, which was horribly tiring, and terribly inspiring. It inspired me to write this. Oh, and do drop a review or two, won't you? 


	5. Enlightenment and Misunderstanding

**Chapter Five**

I checked the time after I woke and it proved to be inhumanly early. Barely six o'clock. Yet, I couldn't sleep, and had had a good night's worth of bad dreams, so I got dressed and got out of the tower in which I felt so much an outsider. True, the other Gryffindors had showed no hostility, nor had they been particularly friendly, exactly the same reaction I got from my classmates of my previous life. Had my personality changed so little? I wasn't just a normal person now. I was Lord Voldemort's daughter. The Great-and-Evil Dark Lord of the wizarding world whose name was never mentioned. Shouldn't that make me somewhat special? But no. I faded into the background just as easily as I had always done. I didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed.

And then there was this Gryffindor issue.

It was scary, exciting, and troubling. Scary, because I didn't know how the Malfoys would react, exciting, because this offered up a whole new perspective for my life, and troubling, because this meant I would have to choose again, when I thought that the choice had already been made at the moment of my birth. Having to choose was a hard thing too.

I had, while thinking, wandered from the top of the castle down to the ground floor. The door of the castle was only some steps away, and on a whim, I walked over, pushed it open, and walked out. The sky was a greyish colour outside, the sun not being up yet to give its golden glow. Pre-dawn Hogwarts was soothingly quiet, as I sat down by the lake and hugged my knees to my chest.

Yes, choices, I had been thinking about choices. I had never chosen to be my father's daughter, but I had accepted it after so many years of it being fact, and had, deep down, accepted that I would be a dark witch, a not-good person, like he would have wanted, like Lucius expected. After the darkness of this childhood, I had all but given up on the world, believed that goodness was bound to lose. So my father was dead. Lucius seemed to take it for fact that he would one day return, and carefully constructed his every action in his absence so that he would not be seen as a traitor when he one day returned.

So, what about me? Since yesterday evening, I had no longer been Lacole Riddle, daughter of the Dark Lord, but also Lacole Riddle, first-year Gryffindor. I had asked to come to Hogwarts, mostly out of curiousity and boredom. I had not expected it to change my perspective of the world, to bring me a chance of saying no to fate. I don't know. Did I still have enough confidence in the world to rebel?

"It is rather early to be out, isn't it?" A low voice interrupted my thoughts.

I started, looked up. The man standing over me was tall, imposing, and vaguely familiar.

"I thought it was, but now there's two of us," I replied.

The man smiled a little, and sat down beside me.

"I rather pride myself on my good memory, but I don't seem to remember who you are."

"That isn't very surprising, considering I only arrived here yesterday evening." I knew he was asking for my name, but at that moment I really didn't want to utter the damned name that made things so difficult for me.

"But I find it rather surprising, to be frank, that you have already found reason to be troubled, within such a short time."

I looked at him. Judging by his age, he was likely a professor, but I didn't remember which he was. Did he really just notice me sitting here thinking by coincidence? Or did he know something?

"Judging by my experiences, troubles don't always spread themselves out over time. In fact, they rather seem to enjoy all coming together, in a short time."

"That's true," the man said, appraising me as I had just done him, "but, judging by my experiences…Hogwarts has always been the place to sooth troubles and give new hope, rather than cause them."

I said nothing, mulling over the words. The man glanced at me, and checked the time.

"It's seven. Breakfast should be starting now. Perhaps you will find things fall into perspective a little easier when you have something in your stomach," he suggested.

"Maybe later," I refused.

He shrugged, and stood up, heading back to the castle. After a few moments, I couldn't help but call after him.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He paused and looked back at me.

"I'm sure you'll soon come to know me by a different name…but I sometimes call myself the Half-Blood Prince."

Half-Blood Prince. A strange name for a person to give himself, and I had an inkling that it wasn't a name he went around telling everybody, so I didn't know why he would tell me. I was a little wary about it-caution being something I had learnt over the course of this life-but I could think of no bad meaning for the words he had spoken to me, so I steeled myself not to bother. Yes, maybe the Half-Blood Prince was right. There was nothing I could do to keep myself from being a Gryffindor, so I might as well see what happened. I hardly had to become a honourable Gryffindor right this moment. Worrying about it was a bit stupid.

I stood, and retraced the Half-Blood Prince's steps back to the castle. Breakfast had started, but it was still early, and most people were still sleeping in. Gryffindors in perticular seemed to value their beauty sleep, so I basically had the whole Gryffindor table to myself. I saw the Prince up at the teacher's table, and when I caught his eye, I gave him a nod and a smile. Say no to pessimism. That was my first goal of the year.

Where Malfoy Manor's food was dainty, Hogwarts' was rich, the kind of food that would make people shamelessly fat. After getting my thoughts straightened out, I had a pretty good appetite, and ate quite a lot. By the time the rest of the Gryffindor first years came down to breakfast, I'd finished eating and was sipping tea. The only reason I wasn't buried in a book as well was that I couldn't possibly move Lucius' library to Hogwarts, and the textbooks I did have I had already read and were ridiculously simple.

"Blimey, you're up early," Fred (I think it was Fred) yawned, sitting down beside me.

I glanced at him, and my eyebrows furrowed. I don't think he was quite awake.

"Fred, your shirt is done up wrong."

He looked down, appeared very surprised that his buttons were all in the wrong holes, and started pulling them open to redo them, even forgetting to lie that he was George. I looked down at my tea and tried to keep the pain off my face. He might be a little kid who didn't know what puberty was, but I wasn't-not really. And dressing at the table was seriously not nice. Lucius was right at least in that the Weasleys didn't know much about manners.

"I'm thinking you should hurry up, you know," I said to my tea, "after all, it's quarter to…so you have exactly fifteen minutes do that shirt up properly, put your tie on, put your robe on, eat your breakfast, and get to…ah, Transfiguration."

"Damn, man, don't put it like that!" Fred groaned, fighting with his tie. It was so amazingly painful to watch that even I lost my cool.

"Oh, for God's sake," I muttered, taking over and quickly tying the tie round his neck, "There. And we're _not_ speaking of this."

I percieved his gratitude from the look he gave me, which was the only way he had left to show it, since he had immediately busied himself with stuffing food into his mouth so fast that I was worried he was going to choke. Fortunately, he seemed to be quite experienced with this way of eating, and got everything done in ten minutes flat. Grabbing another stack of toast, he let out a huge belch and jumped to his feet.

"C'mon, Lacole, we'll have to sprint!"

I rolled my eyes, but still, hitched my bag and ran with him, getting to Transfiguration in the nick of time. It was actually rather fun, which surprised me. I'd not found anything much fun in a long time. Yes, actually…actually I didn't _need_ to wait for Fred, or to help him. It probably wasn't even wise. So why had I done it? It had been a long time since I'd done anything on a whim too. I was rather…happy. Oh. Maybe the Prince really was right. Maybe Hogwarts really was the place to bring new hopes…supersticious as that sounds.

George was already waiting in Transfiguration, grinning from ear to ear in a way that made me extremely suspicious. He and Fred exchanged a high five, and Fred handed him the stack of toast that he had brought. Fred sat down beside George, and I sat down beside Fred. They started whispering in a way only they could understand-and once again I saw a great ability in the way George munched toast and whispered at high speeds all at the same time.

I really didn't pay much attention to that first lesson of Transfiguration, to be honest, though to my credit, my needle was very nice. Neither Fred nor George were so lucky-they got told off by the famously strict Professor McGonagall that very first lesson. They deserved it, too. From what I heard, George had been off making a pact with the school poltergiest, marking the beginning of a reign of terror that everyone who had been at Hogwarts while Fred and George were there would remember.

Lucius had been right about Hogwarts being too easy for me. Although I had read many, many books about magic, I'd always had this gut feeling that I wouldn't actually be able to do it. Maybe it was because I always felt that my previous world was the true world, in a sense, and this rather like a dream. I'd never quite changed my perspective of myself to a witch. But I was wrong-my father's genes apparently did count for something apparently, and every spell I attempted came to me easily. To be honest, after finding that everything worked so well, I was itching to try some harder spells…even some dark arts. But I didn't. It felt as if if I did that, I would be taking a step in that direction, when in truth I still wasn't sure which way I wanted to go.

Although I slept much better after that first day, I'd formed the habit of rising early, and would always take the stroll down to the lake each morning. More often than not, the Prince would drop by, and we'd exchange a few words. I found him to be a sharp, intelligent man, and he was definitely going up on my ladder of respect. I knew that it would be the easiest thing to find out his real name, but I didn't want to. It was the not knowing that was interesting, really.

Because of my timetable, it was on the last day of the first week that I learnt who the Prince was. I learnt it at the moment that Professor Severus Snape swept into the Potions classroom with a forbidding look on his face. I regretted learning it, because from then on he wouldn't be just the Prince anymore. And after another moment, I regretted it even more, because I remembered something else. I had heard the name Severus Snape before, long ago. I had once heard it from my father's mouth. Severus Snape was a death eater. I should have known that everything had a reason, that all good things had to end.

The Prince had always been nice. But Professor Snape was not pleasant, especially to Gryffindors. I had heard much of him from Fred and George, who knew a bit of everything because of their elder brothers. I surprised myself with how angry I was at learning who the Prince was. When Snape stood behind me, checking out my Potion, I ignored him dutifully. Nor did he try to speak to me.

"Good, Miss Riddle," he murmured, before swooping on his next unfortunate victim.

Left alone, my wand froze in my cauldron. I couldn't remember how many stirs I had given it. I actually felt tears prick at my eyes. Why…why did I care this much? So he was just one more person who had a reason for getting close to me. Shouldn't I have expected that? I should have long since learnt that everybody had a motive. Was it because he had given me hope? Oh God, why did it _hurt_? Did I…I think…I think I actually fancy the Half-Blood Prince.

My potion turned out to be an excellent example of gunk. Professor Snape said very little. Thankfully, that is. Feeling very confused, at the end of the class I quickly grabbed my bag and sprinted away, not quite sure where I was going. I was stopped, quite suddenly.

The three boys surrounding me were my boatmates from Day One. I wasn't quite sure what they wanted from me and I really wasn't in the mood to deal with it. Usually, I found these little games of wit interesting, but not today.

"Yes?" I said curtly when they insisted on blocking my way.

"You're a liar," Adrian Pucey declared with an expression of extreme satisfaction.

"What?" I said incredulously.

"I said you're a liar! You can't possibly be Lucius Malfoy's neice!"

"But I'm quite afraid I am," I muttered, trying to push past him. He shoved me, and I overbalanced. I threw out a hand against the wall to steady myself, and the other hand went straight for my wand.

Whatever Adrian Pucey thought he was doing, he had terrible timing. I was extremely pissed off now. He didn't seem much better off.

"You're a_ Gryffindor_!" He spat at me, saying the word as if it was 'worthless piece of dung'.

Gryffindor. Right. I'll show you how fucking Gryffindor I am.

Still leaning against the wall, I slowly looked at him through a curtain of my dark hair. He was pointing his wand at me, but didn't seem to be able to think of a suitable curse. Tough luck, buddy. You had your chance.

I pushed myself off the wall and slashed my wand down, screaming, "_Sectumsempra!_"

Adrian Pucey was way too slow to move. The spell caught him on the right arm and he gave a blood-curding scream. Blood splattered everywhere. Looking terrified, Warrington and Flint fled. I stared at Pucey, crumpled on the ground in a pool of blood, and knew that I'd gone way too far. It was at that moment that I heard a voice behind me, and I whirled round with my wand raised, to see-

Snape. The Prince.

At the moment, he was ignoring my existence, his wand levelled at Pucey as he let out a low mutter that I couldn't quite catch, and to my disbelief, Pucey's wound was healing itself. And that was totally impossible, because the curse that I had just used was the one that my father had described to me in his library when I was four years old, and he had told me that it had no counter-curse.

Snape healed Pucey, and then he uttered a spell I had not expected-he memory wiped Pucey. Oh, I see. He wanted to stay on my good side. But it was hardly because of me.

"Lacole," he said to me, the first time that he had used my first name, "You should not have done that."

As if. I looked down and said nothing, my heart thudding erratically. And I could still feel the intense pleasure that came with dark magic running through my veins.

"What's the matter?" Snape asked.

Oh, you have the nerve to ask that? I couldn't help myself.

"I _know_ you're a death eater, so you can stop fucking pretending! You're just getting close to me because of my blood!" I blurted out foolishly. I really had no idea whether it was Hogwarts or Gryffindor in particular that was making me foolish and hotheaded.

Snape looked at me.

"That's only partially true," he said, calm as always. "I was indeed, once a death eater. But I bear no ill will for your mother in particular. If we have become close, that is because we gain mutual pleasure from our aquaintance. It certainly is not because your mother is Bellatrix Lestrange."

There was something strange about that statement. What did my mother have to do with it? I'd all but forgotten about her. Oh. I realized suddenly how very stupid I had been.

On realizing that he had been a death eater, I had automatically assumed that he knew who my father was, forgetting completely how carefully my paraniod father had guarded the secret of my existence. All he knew was my mother's name, and that would give him no particular reason to want to befriend me. So that would mean that our 'aquaintance' as he put it, was entirely normal. I was getting as paranoid as my father. I was rather embarrassed, and felt quite disgusted with myself for losing my cool.

But, really…this was great. Yes. I'd been too rash.

Everything was going to turn out fine.

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**Also newly picked up. I want to focus on The Road Not Taken, though, so I don't think this will be updated again anytime soon. However, if I am given plot bunnies, that might change. Reviews much appreciated.**


	6. A Basket of Secrets

**Chapter Six**

Lacole Natasha Riddle, was most likely the bane of Lucius Malfoy's existence. There could be no other reason why he would be forced to drink something so strong so early in the day. As Lucius threw back another shot of vodka, he glanced again at the letter lying by his untouched breakfast, written in Lacole's neat, precise hand.

_Dear Lucius,_

_I have arrived at Hogwarts safely. The school is pleasant, yet rather mediocre in teachings, as you had predicted. However, I like to think that the poor standard of teaching is made up for in the wide variety of people within these walls. Although I have found most of my classmates to be below my intelligence, I have found a few who cause my interest, for example Fred and George Weasley._

_The one factor I'm sure holds your interest is the result of my Sorting. I'm afraid that you shall be surprised, and I daresay, disappointed. I have been sorted into the House of Gryffindor. This is, in fact, my own decision, and I regret that I cannot explain to you my reasons in further detail within this letter. I understand that this news must cause you concern, but I urge you not to worry. I am, after all, my parents' daughter._

_One thing you will be pleased to hear is that I find myself as efficent with my wand as I was with Magical Theory. I find that magic comes to me easily, not only neutral magic, but also magic more advanced. This, however, I found out quite by accident. A few Slytherins with whom I had before exchanged some words seemed rather troubled by the fact that Lucius Malfoy's niece might be a Gryffindor, and I regret to say that I went a little too far in my efforts to ressure them. Fortunately, the teacher who happened upon us was Professor Snape, and he took necessary measures._

_Of course, I am very grateful to Professor Snape for his help. On that note, do you find that his name is rather familiar? Do you know where I might have heard it before? Professor Snape excluded, no other Professor has shown especial interest in me. However, I'm sure my worth will become obvious in time._

_Of myself, I have no more to say. How are you, Narcissa, and Draco? I do hope Draco isn't still sulking. I would be delighted for any interesting news you might have if you have the time to tell me about them._

_Regards,_

_Lacole Riddle_

Reading it for the second time did not seem to have made it any more pleasant to Lucius. Good Merlin. Being sorted into Gryffindor! Fighting with Slytherins! Befriending Snape! Lucius could read between the lines, yes, the girl was still the same headache-inducing child as ever, but, truly-what more did she think she could do? And no matter what pretty and clever words she had to explain herself, Lucius knew, that if ever the Dark Lord returned, all this would be deemed his influence, and he would be punished for it. She, at least, had the insurance of being his child. Lucius, on the other hand, had no such luck. There was only one sure way for Lucius to ensure his safety-to put in an indisputable effort towards His return.

Lucius had wanted to play safe-he was a man with a family to think of-but Bellatrix just had to put this prickly problem into his hands. Well. Now, he had no choice. Lucius rose with a heavy sigh, stuffing Lacole's letter into his pocket with uncharacteristic roughness, and headed up to his study. Yes, he would be very busy. Several letters were already composing themselves in his mind.

* * *

While I had been convinced that Snape did not know anything about the icky subject of my parents, or one parent in particular, I seemed to have fully inherited my father's habit of being paranoid. That wasn't, however, my original reason for being out after curfew. Being a first year, I had no free periods, and I didn't have the time I might like to go through Hogwarts' extensive library. On this evening, I had sneaked out of the tower and made for the library. Unfortunately, I was still rather unfamiliar with the castle, and took the wrong stairs, putting myself on the fifth floor. It was here that I saw Snape.

I heard his voice just as I was about to round a corner, and froze where I was.

"But how can you explain to me that she knew that curse? It is not one that is well known." Snape's voice was soft, yet slightly agitated.

"There is surely an explanation for everything, Severus, and it is up to you to find out. Indeed, I wish you luck in finding an answer, both to your concerns and mine."

I heard a hiss of annoyance.

"You know something, old man. What aren't you telling me?"

"It is not that I won't tell you, indeed. But what I suspect is only that, guesses and suspicions. I would not like to tell you a thing that might not be true, and, truly, I hope not to be true."

"At least give me a clue!"

Snape's companion sighed.

"I can only tell you, that I connect her with a person…a person who disappeared long ago."

Snape made to speak, but his companion cut across him with a 'goodnight, Severus', and I heard footsteps coming my way. Panicking, I scrambled back, just about ready to turn myself into a fly on the wall, when I found a small alcove that saved me. I held my breath as Snape walked by me, half expecting my thudding heart to reveal me, but miraculously Snape had noticed nothing, he walked by me without a backward glance. Only after I was sure he was long gone did I dare to come out.

Rounding the corner that I had just eavesdropped at, I saw nobody, but there was an archway guarded by a stone gargoyle, and I thought that I had a pretty good idea who Snape had been talking to. I went over the little I had heard in my mind as I resumed my efforts to find the library. I had such a strange feeling that it was me that they had been speaking of, mainly because he had mentioned a curse.

I had also been wondering about the curse that I had used on Adrian Pucey, the curse my father had claimed uncounterable and yet Snape had countered. If there was one aspect of my father's character I believed in more firmly than his insanity, it was his power. Therefore, it wasn't possible that Snape's power exceeded him. Snape, the Half-Blood Prince, definitely had some secrets, and I was extremely interested in what they were. And…say it was me that they had been talking about, who was the person that they connected me to, the one who had disappeared long ago?

The answers were coming no closer, and neither was the library. I suddenly realised that I had come close to Gryffindor Tower again. Maybe tonight just wasn't the night for going to the library. I'd just decided to call it a night and go back to the tower when I felt something slink past my legs with an unmistakatable miaow.

Oh no. The twins had filled me in on the existence of Flich and Mrs Norris, and I knew this was going to be messy. But the tower was so very close, and I thought that I might just make it. So I ran. And bumped straight into Filch.

Filch was absolutely delighted to catch me. I don't know if it was me in particular or his hate for the magical population, but his suggestions as to my punishment made me admire him so much as to want to refer him to my good father. It was a shame, for Lord Voldemort, that Argus Filch was a squib. Fortunately, my Head of House was much saner than him, and let me off with a good lecture, twenty points off, and a detention to be carried out with Filch. Nevertheless, it annoyed me to have been caught, and I vowed to learn a way to conceal myself as soon as I could.

By the time I arrived for detention the next evening, I was already knackered. I'd spent all my free time in the library researching, but had not succeeded in finding a concealment spell. I was well aquainted with libraries, but I'd never used them for research before, and it was biting me in the arse.

Being told by Filch, cackling, to polish all the trophies on display in the Trophy Room, by hand, did not do good things for my mood. But with my wand in his hands and his breath on my back, I could only pick up the disgusting rag and one filthy trophy and start to polish. Never, whether in this life or in the previous, had I done manual labour, and I was extremely resentful as I scrubbed away at the trophies of this year's Quidditch Cup or that year's House Cup. Then I came to one particularly grime-covered trophy so dirty I could decipher no words. I rubbed at it hard, and words gradually revealed themselves.

_Awarded to Tom Riddle_

_For Special Services to the School_

_June, 1942_

I paused, staring at the words. Tom Riddle? Riddle…Seeing my pause, Filch grouched from behind me, and I resumed my polishing mechenically. I'd never heard of anyone with my name before. As far as I knew, it wasn't a wizarding name. Was it just a coincidence that there was somebody who shared my surname who had been at Hogwarts a long time ago? Or was this really, my father? I quickly calculated the date in my head. It seemed about right.

Well. It seemed as though there was still a lot I didn't know about that dear father of mine. I was really quite curious as to what he could have done to warrant a Special Services Award. My father didn't seem like the kind of person to give service to anybody. But it would be just like him to get an award for doing nothing. Perhaps I should look him up in the library. Know thy enemy, right? Well. I didn't know if Lord Voldemort was my enemy per se, but surely knowing some more about him wouldn't hurt. And I could start with this person called Tom Riddle, who may or may not be my father before he became Lord Voldemort.

I spent the following days up to my eyebrows in books in the library, looking through everything and anything to do with Lord Voldemort or Tom Riddle. There was very little at all about Tom Riddle-he was only mentioned once in a tiny article about him being a witness to the investigation of an old witch who had died unexpectedly-but there were enough books on Lord Voldemort for them to have a small shelf to themselves.

It gave me a strange feeling to read about the crimes that he had commited, stories I had once heard straight from my father's mouth. And what troubled me was, though his cruelty still horrified me, the extent of his power was unmistakably alluring. And I…I got this idea-what if I was the one with that amount of power? There was so much that could be done…all I had ever thought unfair about the world…I could make it change, make it right. I could also be a God.

A bell rang suddenly, shattering my ridiculous dreams. I realised instead that lunch break was over, and I was meant to be in Charms, right this minute. I sprinted to Professor Flitwick's classroom at never-before-reached speeds, and gratefully took the seat Fred had saved for me as Flitwick started to lecture.

Fred grinned at me. It wasn't a nice grin. He was certainly up to something.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Lacole, my good friend," he proclaimed in disgustingly fake pompousness, "I have a proposal for you."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Fred was really not to be trusted when he had that sort of expression on his face. I remained on red alert as I cautiously urged him to continue.

"So we heard you got caught?" George piped in from Fred's other side.

"Out after curfew?" Fred added.

"By Filch?" George cackled.

"How'd you like some payback?"

Hm. So it looks like I'm not the victim. I relaxed slightly.

"Yes, payback sounds quite sweet. What do you suggest?"

Fred and George shared an evil look.

"How would you like to come plant dungbombs in Filch's office with us?"

I choked on an intake of breath. It was an inane idea. Absolutely ridiculous. Not to mention too childish for words.

"Yeah, I'm game," I agreed enthusiastically.

Sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower was much more interesting when there were three of us. Each carrying a pocketful of dungbombs, we sneaked towards Filch's office. Despite having been in Hogwarts no longer than me, Fred and George seemed to know all its nooks and crannies to perfection, taking me through dark corridors rather than the wide main stairs. It was in one of these that I suddenly found George had disappeared.

"Huh? Where's George?" I whispered to Fred.

"This way, you dolt!"

A tapestry 2 metres back from where I stood flapped open to reveal George's face for a second. Fred looked to George and back, pointing to the tapestry in front of him.

"Wasn't it this one?"

At that moment, a figure appeared at the far end of the corridor, and I grabbed Fred's arm, pulling him through the tapestry in front of us. George had been right, this tapestry led nowhere, there was only a small hollow behind it, barely big enough for both Fred and me.

I had one arm around his middle and one hand over his mouth, and my face was buried in his shoulder to muffle my own breathing. After a few moments, faint footsteps were heard, and then faded away. I suddenly realised that Fred was shaking, and loosened my hold on him at once, feeling stupid. Fred turned to me, eyes shining in the darkness, and it took me a moment to realise that he was shaking with silent laughter. But then I started giggling too, though I wasn't even sure what we were laughing about.

"God, you're fast," he said finally, wheezing, "and that tickled!"

I stuck out my tongue, and peeked out of the tapestry before stepping out.

"Oh, shut up, you, come on! George is probably thinking we died out here!"

It took a while before we caught up with George, and even longer for us to find Filch's office. Everything seemed very funny, from the shapes of the shadows to the way our steps echoed, and even though I sniped at Fred for being stupid, I couldn't help laughing, and it held us up immensely.

But in the end, we arrived at Filch's empty office, and after checking for Mrs. Norris, we entered. Fred and George quickly started setting up their dungbombs in traps from the door to the desk, and while I couldn't manage that, I settled for putting mine in the most unexpected places so that Filch wouldn't run out too fast. I put one on every shelf and pulled open every drawer to place one.

The last drawer in Filch's desk was locked, but I opened it easily with a spell. Inside was quite a lot of confiscated goods, and I pushed them around to find a good place to hide my last dungbomb. Under the junk, there was an old piece of parchment that seemed quite out of place in that drawer, and it made me pull it out. Holding it in my hands gave me a prickly feeling, and I got curious as to what was wrong with it. Filch was a squib; he'd hardly miss a piece of parchment. So I put my dungbomb in the drawer and locked it again, and put the parchment into my pocket.

I was carefully guided out of Fred and George's formidable army of dungbombs, and we took the same route back to Gryffindor Tower. Back in my dorm, I was too tired to bother with the parchment. It could wait. I needed sleep, and fast.

I slept well that night, and for once the red in my dreams were not the red of blood but the red of flame. As for the parchment, it would be a long time before I cracked the code to its secrets, the same as all the other secrets that I had come to notice within my first days at Hogwarts.

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**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and gave me plot bunnies! I really appreciate it. I treat my writing seriously, and try my best to keep my characters in character, so I'm always happy when people take the time to give me some constructive critisism. I hope that you like the new chapter!**


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